


The Carpenter and the Oyster

by overratedantihero



Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Abuse of Naivety, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Canon Typical Violence, Dick is a mer, Gen, If you squint there are some uncomfortable sexual undertones, Manipulation, Oops, Siren, Slade and Co are pirates, The undertones became overtones, This is not a pleasant or fluffy fic, power and control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Slade is hell-bent on hunting a merperson that won't leave his ship be. But once he's actually able to confront the creature, his motives change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The eldest Oyster looked at him,  
> But never a word he said:  
> The eldest Oyster winked his eye,  
> And shook his heavy head--  
> Meaning to say he did not choose  
> To leave the oyster-bed."  
> -The Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll

Slade leaned against the helm of his ship, gripping his own face in his hand so tightly that his fingers were white. The anger that rolled off him in waves was enough to scatter his crew, leaving only the ship’s Quarter Master to confront Slade.

“What is it, Wintergreen?” Slade snapped. He couldn’t see Wintergreen, his eye was trained ahead of him, towards the wake the ship left as it barreled forward, but he had felt the man’s presence and heard his approach well before Wintergreen drew close. “We’re headed to port, handsomely, too. What more do they want?”

Wintergreen didn’t respond, not until he was close enough to place a hand on Slade’s shoulder. Only he would dare to touch Slade so casually, and it had little to do with Wintergreen’s elected position among the hands. “You’re fixating,” Wintergreen offered gently. “A few days on land will do well for you. There will be other quarry to hunt when we return to sea.”

Slade’s hand came down so firmly on the edge of the helm that the wood cracked beneath the force of it. Wintergreen wasn’t fazed; he’d seen worse tantrums in his time in the British Navy, and he’d seen much worse behavior from Slade when Slade was first introduced to the concoction that gave him his strength.

“You sound as if he’s not still out there, tracking us,” Slade hissed, glaring at the foaming waves. “Hunting us,” Slade amended through ground teeth.

“You haven’t felt like prey in quite a while, have you?” Wintergreen murmured, releasing Slade’s shoulder to lean forward beside him. “Markov will resent what you’ve done to the wood,” he added, glancing at the cracked frame.

“He’ll recover,” Slade muttered in a low voice, “I’ll not be had by a _beast_.”

The water grew rough around them, and then the hull shuddered enough that Slade pulled his attention from the sea behind them to look towards his crew. His gaze settled on a cabin boy.

“Harper!” Slade barked. “Check the bilge. If there’s water, alert Adeline. We may need to dock sooner than anticipated.”

Roy gave a mock solute before dutifully heading towards the dredges of the ship to check for leakage. He hadn’t made it below deck before the ship shuddered again, this time the force concentrated against the keel. Slade let out a colorful string of curses and practically threw his torso over the edge of the hull to glare down at the water. Sure enough, the barest tip of a black dorsal fin that breached the foaming green of the sea betrayed the culprit.

“Peabody!”

Obediently, Peabody scrambled to his side, dragging Slade’s hefty harpoon, a wickedly sharp spear of a weapon that crawled with electricity. Designed by Peabody himself, but Slade expected nothing less of Wintergreen’s son.

“Captain don’t—” Wintergreen began, but Slade was already leaping over the side of the ship and into the violent waves below. “Enhanced intellect my arse,” Wintergreen muttered, placing a hand over his face to steel himself before having to face their crew.

“When the mer tears Captain Wilson apart, I nominate myself for Captain,” Cheshire announced, helpfully.

Slade hardly felt the shock of the water, or the sting as his energy harpoon lit the water with electricity, striking the boat and drawing out an unearthly, guttural cry from the beast of prey which lashed out with its massive tail, driving Slade deeper into the water and neutralizing his harpoon’s current. Slade twisted and struck out at the creature with his weapon, but the mer languidly rolled its body, flashing the intermittent blue in its scales and evading the sharp tip.

Then, with a quickness that blurred its form even for Slade, whose own enhanced speed had earned him the blood and flesh of more than a few merfolk, the creature dove beneath Slade before sweeping back up, wrapping its tail around Slade’s body and gripping the harpoon with a fist right above Slade’s own. The creature let out a chittering sound, that Slade swore was _laughter_.

The damned beast had trailed his boat for leagues, beating against it and luring more than a few of Slade’s crew to their deaths with a bat of its otherworldly blue eyes. His crew had grown haggard with Slade’s petulant attempts to corner the creature, but still, even as they retreated towards land, the creature followed. It was unlike average mer behavior, which was predicated on their territorial nature.  

Defective as the mer may be, its gorgeous skin and scales would sell for a truly heinous price on any seaside market. A rich, European noblewoman would end up wearing it in jewelry or as a shawl, and Slade would enrich the ship so thoroughly he and his crew could dock long enough to for the boatswain and carpenters to augment the ship to Slade’s content.

Slade’s body was contained, as was his harpoon, but the mer seemed more interested in chittering at Slade than finishing him off. Black hair fanned out around the mer’s chiseled face and bright eyes, exposing its neck and the delicate slits on either side that fluttered with the mer’s breath. Slade’s own breath was running low, and so he darted his head forward and clamped his teeth around the creature’s neck until he tasted blood.

With a terribly high-pitched cry that reverberated in Slade’s ears, the mer released Slade and attempted to flee, but Slade gripped the end of that long tail, his fist tightening right above where two massive fins fanned out on either side and forcibly drug the mer with him as he reached for the surface. He hadn’t expected to breach the water without having to stab the creature through to incapacitate it, but the number Slade did on its gills must have been effective because the mer hardly struggled.

When Slade finally broke through the water, he swallowed several, deep lungfuls of air and yanked at his prize until the creature’s doubled over itself so that it could poke its head above the water just enough that those perturbing eyes settled on Slade. Slade wordlessly fitted the end of his harpoon so that it pressed against the mer’s side, lest it try anything.

Then, Slade tightened his grip on the mer’s tail, ignoring the sting as the scales cut into his hand, and barked, “Why have you been hunting us?”

The creature lifted its chin above the water and tilted its head, eyebrows furrowed. When the mer didn’t seem compelled to speak, Slade pressed the harpoon against the creature’s flesh until fear flashed in its expression.

“I wasn’t!” the creature insisted. Slade increased the pressure and blood began to cloud the water as the creature cried out, voice less shrill above water. The boat was still close, close enough that Slade knew his crew was watching.

“You killed my men and women,” Slade growled. “You’re lying.”

The mer was smart enough not to struggle, lest the harpoon dig in deeper, but his entire body was tense as he resorted to pleading. “I didn’t! I wasn’t! Please, my side- you’re going to attract a predator,” the mer hissed.

“I already have, now tell me why,” Slade demanded, yanking at the tail. Even with his strength and the weightlessness of water, it hardly shifted the mer, but the movement clearly made the mer uncomfortable as he winced.

“People are rare in Bruce’s territory, I was curious!” the creature blurted. “Your people- they jumped in after me. I didn’t make them do that. I mean I did, but I don’t- it’s not my fault,” the mer babbled. “Bruce isn’t a _siren_ , he doesn’t—he was never _equipped_ to teach me not to… and there are _so_ few humans, I was just bored!”  

When Slade just quirked an eyebrow, the mer let out a shrill growl of frustration and resorted to what Slade could only assume was a species norm because otherwise, it was suicidal. The creature gripped the length of the harpoon and forcefully drew it up, cutting himself further in the process. But rather than direct the harpoon away from his body, or wrenching it from Slade’s grip, the mer placed it against its neck instead, tilting its head back to expose the column of its throat further to the sharpened edge and released the weapon to Slade’s control again.

“Was curious,” the creature asserted again, its voice hoarse with the angle and pressure against its throat.

Slade humphed. He hadn’t realized there were subspecies of mer. He also hadn’t realized that mer were anything other than solitary hunters. Slade released the mer’s tail and leaned in close.

“Who’s Bruce?” He asked with a growl. The mer swallowed.

“Father. Adopted me.”

Well. That was unexpected.

“Why did you attack the boat?”

“Didn’t,” the mer whispered. “Bored. You’ve entertained me.”

Slade nodded thoughtfully and lowered the harpoon. “What are your chances of survival this far from your territory while injured?”

The mer straightened its neck and curled his body. Its hands disappeared into the water and it flinched as it felt along the wound on his side. His damaged gill also fluttered as the mer assessed his damage. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted.

Slade hummed. He could kill the creature now. Drive his harpoon through the creature’s stomach and cut up, gutting the creature while protecting the profitable back scales from damage.

Or. Or, Slade could have a siren at his beck and call. If the creature could lure his disciplined crew to their deaths without even _trying_ , what he could do with proper coaxing would craft a reputation for Slade. Besides, once the creature healed, he could hunt. Effectively, cleanly. Mer were apex predators, Slade could make back the money he’d lose by letting the creature survive through the skins of sharks and the teeth from whales. Or the scales of other mer. 

Slade hooked the harpoon to his side and swam closer, allowing his hand to brush over the mer’s tail. The mer eyed him distrustfully, but it must have been starved for touch because as soon as Slade cupped its face, it’s entire body relaxed.

“We have surgeons on board the ship, they can wrap and monitor your wounds. We’ll care for you until you’re able to return,” Slade cooed, sliding his hand to cup the back of the creature's neck and squeeze assuringly. The creature's eyelashes fluttered. 

Slade had no intention of letting the mer return home. He’d fashion a beautiful, pearl studded collar befitting the beautiful creature, and then chain it to his ship. He’d permanently mark the creature until it couldn’t leave, even if given the machinations. But first, first Slade would groom it. Pry into the creature’s psyche, manipulate those pieces of it that led it to stray so far from home in the first place. Those pieces that possessed it to place a killing tool against its own throat in a show of submission even while still in the water, where it had the advantage.

The creature glanced up through its eyelashes, and Slade felt the brief pull his own crew had likely experienced before throwing themselves overboard. But Slade allowed the feeling wash over him and recede as sure as the tide. “But I—what I did to your crew—”

Slade hushed him. “You were never taught control. We’ll teach you. We’ll treat you as one of our own. You’ll be our apprentice, a renegade the same as us. Until you're ready to leave our sides.”

The creature’s head tilted. Naïve interest colored its features. 

“My name is Dick,” the creature offered, tail wrapping loosely around Slade’s legs, a show of affection, not aggression. Slade grinned wolfishly.

“It’s a pleasure, Dick. Now let me introduce you to Wintergreen.”

Wintergreen could be soft, too gentle at times. But Wintergreen could also appreciate prizes, and it was his right as quartermaster to partake in Slade’s ill-gotten gains. He’d learn to appreciate Dick’s captivity.

They both would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade is disconcerted by how seamlessly Dick fits into his crew.

Dick took to captivity with an ease that surprised even Slade. Once Slade had coaxed him into a rowboat, which his crew then used to lift the both of them back into the ship, the extent of Dick’s wounds became apparent. On the boat’s deck, Slade had to bark at the crew to keep them back so that the surgeons could come forward and evaluate the writhing mer. A few didn’t listen well- namely Roy and Koriand’r- but for the rest, Dick’s gnashing teeth were ward enough.

After treating him to the best of their ability, the surgeons retreated except for Thompkins, who pulled Slade aside. “His side will heal, but you’ve permanently scarred his gills,” she warned. “He’ll be able to return to the water, but he won’t be able to exert himself as he could before. His own kind will see him as weak, a target.”

Slade shook his head. “He was already weak. He wasn’t socialized properly, not for one of his kind. We’ll keep him close while he reacclimates.”

Thompkins furrowed her brows but didn’t push the point.

“Slade?” that melodic voice dulled Slade’s usually sharp senses again. Slade twitched and Thompkins took her leave. Slade took a steadying breath and then spared a glance at Dick. Dick, who’d stretched out, displaying his dazzling scales, which crawled up his stomach and down his sides and across his shoulders. Beneath the water, Dick’s scales looked black, with flashes of color, but in the sun, they were a pure blue.

“Dick?” Slade replied, hoarsely enough that Koriand’r arched an eyebrow. Slade scowled and she glanced away pointedly.

Dick batted long eyelashes and smiled sweetly while Slade repressed the urge to skewer him. “I need to breathe soon. It’s too warm here.”

From Slade’s peripheral vision, he noticed members of the crew swaying. Barbara tripped over seemingly nothing at all, and Slade decided it would be best to have Dick removed for now, or at least isolated.

Slade mustered up a smile. “Of course. To protect you, we’re going to keep you aside the ship in a net. For now. While we outfit suitable quarters on board.”

Wintergreen sputtered from Slade’s blind spot. “And how do you suppose we’ll manage that?” he hissed. Slade didn’t bother breaking eye contact with Dick.

“Easily, and with pleasure.”

It did not happen easily, and nothing with Dick was. That isn’t to say the crew didn’t find him pleasurable. Despite Dick’s sharp teeth and bright eyes and eerie voice, the crew flocked to him whenever he was on deck and plenty were willing to meet him in the water, where he remained entangled in a net while he healed. Dick’s charm absorbed the sweat and exhaustion while the crew labored to build on-board quarters for the injured mer. Slade found himself grinding his teeth and storming about the ship’s deck with each passing incident showcasing Dick’s popularity. He convinced himself it had nothing to do with the otherworldly pull of Dick’s voice stuttering his self-control, and everything to do with his crew encroaching on Slade’s property.

Eventually, the ship docked and progress moved forward much quicker with the accessibility of materials. While members of the crew slaved away, Slade personally saw to Dick settling close, but out of sight of those working on the docks and milling about in the nearby city.

Together, they found a cave, inside of which was a pool with a ledge sturdy enough for Slade. Where Slade would normally be in the midst of bartering and sweating with his men and women, he was instead glaring at the cave’s ceiling while Dick languidly lounged in the water.

“You only make eye contact when someone’s watching,” Dick noted, peeking up at Slade from the water. “Except for when you have something sharp in my skin.”

Slade grunted. “Since you’ve been with us, six of my crew members have leapt from the ship and two had to see the surgeons after injuring themselves on deck.” He spared Dick a glance, but Dick wasn’t the least bit chagrined. His smile practically twinkled.

“I caught each one who joined me in the water.”

“Yes,” Slade ground out. “I’m aware. Koriand’r nearly drowned Jason when he dove to fetch her.”

“That had nothing to do with my abilities,” Dick murmured. “Kori just likes me.”

Slade grunted. “I’m sure. And Wallace?”

At that, Dick had the decency to look sheepish. “A little bit of both. I like your people too, Slade.”

“I need you to stay away from them, before you get one of them killed, Dick. Not everyone is sturdy enough to manage your affections.”  

“Are you?” Dick shot back. Slade’s mouth twitched. Somewhere in the cave, water dripped.

“You underestimate how dangerous I am, kid,” Slade muttered. To prove a point, he met Dick’s eyes and held them, unblinking. That familiar tug blurred his senses and spurred Slade to pursue Dick, to jump, _jump, jump, jump, he’s right there, just jump, he’s in the water, he’s waiting, he wants you, jump._

“I don’t think you’re all that bad,” Dick cooed. “No one ever is. That’s what I like about humans. They have such capacity for goodness.”

Slade sighed and then (in an action that had nothing to do with the pull of Dick’s voice, Slade swore it) he stepped from the ledge, allowing himself to fall into the water. When the resulting splash settled and Dick darted close in delighted curiosity, Slade struck out. He grabbed Dick’s neck and pressed the heel of his hand against Dick’s trachea. Dick whined and Slade ran his thumb over Dick’s injured gills.

“Humans are not good, not bad. They are opportunists. Some will take you by your pretty throat and skin you for profit. They’ll slice your flesh, harvest your scales, and pry out your bewitching larynx to display. Stay away from them, do you understand?” Slade hissed, shaking Dick by his neck lightly. Dick narrowed his eyes.

“What about you?”

“I’m just as selfish as the rest, and I’ll kill anyone who lays a hand on you,” Slade growled, releasing Dick’s throat to run his fingers through Dick’s wet hair. Dick reached out and clung to Slade’s clothes with long, gently webbed fingers. His pupils were blown, reminding Slade of the look Dick had when Slade first caught him under his harpoon. Mer were a violent species. Dick didn’t come across as particularly violent, but maladjusted behaviors aside, Dick couldn’t escape base, evolutionary instincts anymore than the rest.

“You’re mine, do you understand?” Slade growled, placing a hand on Dick’s bandaged side and applying enough pressure to inflict pain. Dick didn’t so much as flinch.

“Sure,” Dick murmured, eyes bright and smile playful. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So IS Slade the Carpenter after all?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I weep for you,' the Walrus said:  
> I deeply sympathize.'  
> With sobs and tears he sorted out  
> Those of the largest size,  
> Holding his pocket-handkerchief  
> Before his streaming eyes.

Slade stared, hollow-eyed, into the glass of Dick’s habitat, fashioned by his crew in the belly of the ship. The weight had been nearly too much for the vessel, but Slade had taken the utmost care in redistributing and downsizing their cargo to accommodate. The crew had argued with him, sent Wintergreen to negotiate. They worried about lost wealth and shortages of food.

But while their complaints and Slade’s obstinance crawled towards a crescendo, Dick had been preoccupied in the shallow waters of his designated cove. Before there could be a mutiny, the carcass of a fully grown dolphin washed to shore, practically carried to Slade’s feet by the tide. The blubber was scored by deep claw marks, and there was a terribly vicious bite at the dolphin’s spine, just below its head. The gesture was largely posturing (although impressive, the meat was barely enough to feed the crew, and the hide was ruined), but the crew accepted the assurance that their sacrifices would be met with gratitude.

They were rewarded once they set sail again, prior to fetching Dick from the waters, when they found their nets laden with fish, pearl loaded mollusks, and the carcass of a petit shark. The loss of supplies was quickly forgotten, and Dick settled sweetly and obediently into his quarters aboard the ship.

Dick’s accommodations did not quell his enthusiastic interactions with the crew. A hinged door on deck opened to the upper boundary of Dick’s waters, and whenever the door was open wide enough to drop in Dick’s meals, it was wide enough for Dick to shoulder his torso out so that he could speak to and cajole the working sea farers. Roy was tasked with feeding Dick and whenever Dick managed to wiggle his way out that door Slade lectured Roy for his carelessness. But each time Roy shrugged and said, “He’s strong, boss. I don’t stand a chance,” and Slade knew Roy was right so he let it go.

Despite setting stern visitation protocol, to protect the crew from Dick as well as to give Dick a semblance of peace, Slade found himself violating his own rules more frequently than not. Almost against his own volition, Slade consistently found himself descending beneath the deck and splaying a hand over the glass of the enclosure. From behind the thick glass and while encased in water, Dick’s voice trilled in muted musical notes that caused Slade’s skin to feel tight and flush. During these ill-advised visitations, Slade grew dizzy and dazed, and his tongue sat dry and heavy in his mouth. Dick, on the other hand, welcomed Slade’s transgressions. When Slade came around, Dick beamed and chattered as if he weren’t molding Slade’s skull between his long fingered, gently webbed hands.

But Slade still descended. He still watched and glared even though the fight was steadily seeping from his gaze. In this particular instance, deep as they were into the night, Dick slept peacefully on the sandy floor of his enclosure, looking vulnerable and pretty with his gills (which were healing better than predicted) fluttering with his sleep-heavy breaths. That didn’t stop Slade from tapping the glass, ever so gently, with the knuckle of his right pointer finger.

Dick eyes flicked open, and he smiled a lazy, tired smile when he caught sight of Slade. He began his watery trilling, but Slade shook his head and gestured upwards, towards the hatch above Dick. Dick obligingly uncurled himself, brushed sand from his scales, and lazily drifted up towards the door. Slade also ventured that way, via stairs. Once he reached the deck, sat cross legged on the wood, and opened the hatch, Dick popped to the surface and gripped the edge of the deck to hold himself afloat. Few of Slade's men remained on deck, and those who were present knew to look away when Slade convened with Dick. 

“Hello, Slade,” Dick cooed. “Invoking parlay?”

Slade frowned. “Where did you learn your English?” He asked, not for the first time. Dick was a creature of the depths, but Slade often heard him throw around colloquialisms from sailors. Dick’s eyes softened, and he tugged at the hem of Slade’s trousers.

“I’ve told you,” Dick murmured. “I like humans. I’ve picked up their speech from my various... encounters.”

Slade grunted. “And is... Bruce, was it? Has Bruce encouraged that behavior? You speak little of him in our company, even after introducing him. One of his kind should take better care to watch after their own.”

Dick withdrew his hand and shrugged. “Bruce knows better than to think he could collar me to his side. I’m a free spirit, Slade.”

Slade hummed, reached out and brushed the circle of silver he’d crafted for Dick, which hung around his neck loosely in place of a grander design that Slade was till laboring over.

“You could have fooled me,” Slade smirked.

Dick pursed his lips. “You and Bruce would like each other, if chance favored it. Opportunists, the both of you.”

Slade curled his fingers around the silver circlet and drug Dick closer by it. When their noses practically touched, Slade murmured, “And what does that say about you?”

“Terrible things,” Dick murmured against Slade’s mouth. When Dick’s cold, water slick lips pressed against the heat of Slade’s mouth, a shout sounded from the crow’s nest.

“Navy vessel!” The crew member frantically cried. Slade ripped away from Dick with a growl and immediately barked orders to the few milling bodies. Wintergreen and the rest of the sleeping crew were woken with haste, and the ship burst with activity as they scrambled to prepare for a confrontation. Dick did not recede into his enclosure. He pillowed his chin on his crossed arms and watched the bustle with a pout, abandoned by Slade in favor of this new threat.

Jason paused as he passed to look down at Dick.

“Chin up, Dickie,” Jason smirked. “It’s almost over.”

Dick regarded Jason with cool disinterest. Jason almost moved on before Dick responded, “It’s as if he knows exactly when I begin enjoying myself, and then he just yanks the game out from under me.”

Jason barked out bitter laughter. “The only game he cares for is the one he sets. Let’s hope you didn’t drag your prey too deeply along, lest he put up a dirtier fight because of you.”

Scandalized, Dick opened his mouth to retort but Jason disappeared among the throng of crew and movie bodies. In the distance, gunpowder ignited and the first shot was fired.

“Dick! Fall back!” Slade growled, storming over to close the hatch, deadly looking swords slung across his back, a gun in his hands.

“Release me,” Dick demanded. “Let me loose in the water, I can help.”

Slade was already shaking his head, before Dick could even finish speaking. “You’re too valuable. Don’t fret, a lone Navy vessel cannot hope to match us.”

As if on cue, more cries sounded from the crow’s nest as more vessels, all bearing the same flag and insignia, emerged from the early morning fog. Slade cursed and struck out with his foot, stomping the hatch closed and missing Dick by a hair's breadth when Dick darted down to escape being crushed.

Thus, miserably, Dick was only privy to vague cries, gunfire, singing metal, and the stomps of boots. But even without the auditory clues, Dick could guess what was happening. In his mind’s eye, he could see the imperial vessels press closer, he could taste the gunpowder. He knew that Kori, Roy, Jason, and Barbara all drew their swords (and Jason his guns) on Slade’s men as soon as the first Navy boot touched Slade’s deck. And although he couldn’t witness it, he could feel the moment that Bruce stepped onto the wood, his mere presence booming louder than the cannons.

Dick idly lamented missing the shock that surely crossed Slade’s features, if only for moment, after being introduced to Bruce. He’d thought Bruce was a mer, Dick hadn’t given any indication otherwise. But no, Dick’s guardian, captain, and father was none other than the Bat of Gotham.

All too soon, the hatch swung open, and Kori peered down through the rippling water.

“Dick?” She murmured, softly, sweetly. “It’s time to take you home. You did beautifully.”

Dick emerged, focused his gaze away from the wreckage of the deck in case he saw the hurt and scandal that he didn’t want to feel, not yet.

“He’s been killed?” Dick couldn’t resist asking, bracing himself for the answer. 

Kori shook her head and Dick dropped his shoulders. “Detained. He will stand trial for his crimes. Come, Dick, it’s time to take you home.” Her green eyes flicked to the circlet around his neck. “I will not see you shackled anymore.”

With her unearthly strength, Kori pulled him from the water and lifted him in her arms. Dick met Bruce’s gaze, and Bruce nodded curtly. An admission, a “good work.” Roy and Jason were making rounds, securing detainees and cutting up while Barbara spoke with Luc Fox, of one of Bruce’s accompanying vessels.

And then, Dick’s attention inevitably fell to Slade. Slade who was bound and restrained and whose furious eyes died as fire does when doused as soon as Dick caught his sight. Evidently, Dick’s grip on him was too tight for the extent of Dick’s betrayal to register meaningfully.

Dick felt all the world like a walrus, fattened on the meat of unsuspecting oysters.

The Carpenter ran a thumb across Dick’s cheekbone when Dick cast his shameful eyes down.

“You did well, Dick,” Bruce murmured. “Rest now. They had a pleasant run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick was neither the Carpenter nor the Oyster, he was the tearful Walrus. 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoyed! It began as a straight forward one shot, but I enjoyed playing with the poem further.


End file.
